


Inherited Trauma

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, yes this is a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: So Chikage is fine. Chikage doesn’t know, and has no right to cringe at the sound of gunshots. To feel sick to his stomach over cradling the dying in plays. To feel his heartbeat elevate like that over images of dark cliffs.Chikage has no right to steal this from Hisoka and August, who knew, and saw first hand.
Relationships: August & Mikage Hisoka & Utsuki Chikage
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	Inherited Trauma

It repeats in his head - over and over. Some song on static broken radios, drilled into his head with an aggravating shrill.

It repeats and repeats, someone screams for help from _no one._ Anyone who would listen. Embedded into the words of waltz or dexterous piano keys.

_S.O.S._

He screams. But does not.  
He breathes.   
But sometimes does not.

He likes to say he’s fine, grit his teeth because it’s not his trauma to claim.

Chikage is, and will continue to be very much alive. Very much unaffected. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be shot in a way that would prove lethal. He’s only felt scratches in comparison, so it’s not his trauma to claim. 

Chikage really should recover. 

Because he doesn’t know what it was like when his skin turned pale. He can only imagine what it was like to watch, hopelessly, as the light faded from those eyes he found such solace in.

Hisoka however, does. It’s scarred Hisoka, not him. His mind only fills in blanks because it’s _not his trauma._ He’s only guessing what it must have been like to watch the only light in their life die off.

So Chikage is fine. Chikage doesn’t know, and has no right to cringe at the sound of gunshots. To feel sick to his stomach over cradling the dying in plays. To feel his heartbeat elevate like that over images of dark cliffs.

Chikage has no right to steal this from Hisoka and August, who knew, and saw first hand.

Chikage’s only pretending.

Pretending he couldn’t breathe over the slightest reminder of a night he never saw.

Chikage only knew of waiting. The neverending stretch of _t i m e._ Of what it was like to wait forever for them to return, driven mad with a thousand thoughts, a thousand regrets in his head of things he should have done, and how he was a terrible, terrible excuse for family.

And still is.

He never saw it to be affected by it.  
It’s not his trauma to claim.

He’d inhaled their pain like second hand smoke, burning his lungs, festering his mouth with sores.

He thought of the bottle.

Wanted to roll it around in his palm again, with the security of it’s eternal peace. _Rest_. A promise in blue elixyr - that everything would _stop_. He wanted to pick up the glass shards off the floor of his old life, until they sliced through his palms.

He wanted to feel what it was like to bleed to death. 

Maybe.

_Like him._


End file.
